


A Song of Ice and Fire

by cloudfree



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bending (Avatar), Bounty Hunters, Dystopia, Emotional Baggage, Escapism, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, Kuai Liang owns an Ice Cream Shop, M/M, Nightmares, On the Run, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ratings may change, Red Lotus (Avatar), Tags May Change, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudfree/pseuds/cloudfree
Summary: The glowing amber eyes in the dark aren't what scare Kuai Liang; it's the fear and tumult they bring with them. The life he lives is cautiously sheltered, albeit fraught with risk. Who knew that all it would take was one runaway firebender to bring his carefully constructed walls down?MK11/Avatar AU, hopefully part of a series.
Relationships: Hanzo Hasashi | Scorpion & Kuai Liang | Sub-Zero, Hanzo Hasashi | Scorpion/Kuai Liang | Sub-Zero
Comments: 21
Kudos: 63





	1. Solitude

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I have been sitting on this and writing it and struggling and deliberating about whether or not to post it for literal months :') But here it is: the crossover I've always wanted to write. 
> 
> Just as a heads up, this is primarily a Mortal Kombat fic, so while some characters circa ATLA are mentioned, they are _not_ the main focus of the story. And the only Game of Thrones reference in this entire fic is the title. Sorry to disappoint :(
> 
> This was written in response to the question "What if Scorpion and Sub-Zero were thrown into the Avatar Universe?" Hope you'll like the answer ;) Cheers!

When Kuai Liang was a child, he was thrown into the sea. 

He still remembers the feeling of the water as it churned around him, its salty burn assaulting his nose and throat and forcing its way into his lungs. He remembers being helpless, opening his mouth to cry out but only succeeding in letting himself get taken further into the abyss. 

It’s an arresting sensation, one that Kuai Liang hates with every fiber of his being. It’s not just the water against him, it’s his life, his _soul,_ turned against him both unwillingly and unmercifully. Trapped in the very essence that built him up, piece by piece, turned him into who he is. 

Today is the same. Blinded, he can hear nothing save for the dull roar in his eardrums as he flails wildly in the open water. Everything is muted and gray, save for the light reaching out from the glimmering surface, so distant to him now. Thunder rumbles in his ears, the rush of water building an unbearable pressure in his head. Fleetingly, Kuai Liang reaches for that pale splash, where the sun itself seems to call out, but the force is too much and the corners of his vision begin to fade.

There could be worse ways to die still, Kuai Liang muses. Should he close his eyes? Would that help ease the onslaught, the overwhelming helplessness he feels? He is without power, without strength.

He watches, with the detached apathy only a dying man feels, as something from above — a shadow? — closes around his wrist, something overwhelmingly _warm._ In a split second the air and water alike are wrenched from his lungs as the blurry appendage wrenches him upward, his body instantly breaking the water’s surface. 

Kuai Liang opens his eyes to sunlight, gasping, its hesitant rays peeking through the window. It’s the same dream he’s been having for weeks, though he can scarcely make head or tail of it. Inhaling deeply, he rolls off the side of the bed with the grace of a drugged lion moose. He’s up much later than normal, which is unusual, to say the least, but he can just open the shop a bit later to compensate. 

He sidles into the washroom, gazing at himself in the looking glass. In several months he will hit the ripe old age of thirty, an entire lifetime away from the young boy he once was. Haggard and worn as he might look from the lack of sleep, Kuai Liang’s face is handsome, a rugged charm to the scruffy features. There’s a shine to his dark brown eyes, a tautness to his skin that only barely alludes to the strength just beneath. Aside from the scar running down the left side of his face, across the skin of his eyelid, he looks unassuming. A perfectly normal, nondescript human being, trying to pave his own road like everyone else.

Once ready, Kuai Liang heads downstairs, a catch in his step that he can’t find anything obvious to blame on. The shades are pulled close enough to allow as little light as possible into the storefront, its front door firmly locked. Hiding away from the watchful eyes of the cityscape, even for a little while, is a blessing, he muses as he begins to set up shop for the day.

Sub-Zero Frozen Treats is a small, unassuming place. It has tiled floors and pale, robin’s-egg-blue walls, save for the large, bright menu board plastered at the top of the room behind the counter. Scattered in front are a spray of chairs and tables, their colors mild and pleasant—looking. It is the picture of domesticity. 

He is almost universally adored by his neighbors, and the humble little shop overlooking the shining Yue Bay is famous for its simple, flavorful confectionery, said to bring smiles to even the most dour of customers. 

The curtains are pulled apart to reveal busy, twisting streets clamoring with passersby; ‘closed’ becomes ‘open’, and he mans the position behind the counter with the ease and practice of a soldier at war. There are no employees to help him; Kuai Liang works alone. He supposes that someday he’ll have need for another set of hands behind the register, but that day has far from approached his horizon. 

As the minutes tick by, the shop remains blessedly empty in the early afternoon. It’ll give Kuai Liang some much-needed time to get his bearings, however, so his focus shifts to setting up, restocking from the freezer in the back room and organizing everything on the shelf behind the counter.

This is how it is most days, meticulous like clockwork, though there are usually more people out and about at this hour. A twinge of annoyance passes through Kuai Liang as he recalls the unceremonious way he’d been woken up earlier. It’s been years since he’d put that part of his life behind him, but the residual emotion still remains, creeping up on him when he least expects it. 

Sometimes his work suffers for it, but no matter. A little delay never hurt anybody, though the nightmare certainly threw a bit of a wrench in his calculated routine. 

Soon, the customers will begin to wander in, drawn to the welcoming atmosphere. There are multitudes of them, with some regulars that Kuai Liang knows well; a regal-looking woman and her wife, each dressed in matching shades of blue and green. A jovial man with his two young sons, each Kuai Liang has taken to calling Hat and Headband for their respective choice of hair accessory. Sometimes there will even be a cat at the door, a deep blue stray with yellow markings, and he makes sure to leave a bowl of milk out for it whenever he remembers.

As comfortable as he is with his situation, it’s no paradise. The life he’s chosen is lonely. As much as he values his privacy, and as cordial as he is to the people around, the solitude numbs him sometimes in a way that the cold of his old home did not. Some part of him watches the hordes of children flocking into his shop each day, their cheeky little smiles as they eagerly raise to him grubby fingers wrapped around lumps of pocket change, and yearns for something similar. A family, like he once had. Someone to share the nights with, perhaps.

But that type of life never suited him. It never suited anybody like him. Kuai Liang has realized that the greatest mistake you can make is getting too comfortable in a world that abhors your very existence; he’d had to learn that the hard way. 

He steps into the freezer for a moment, hidden away from any prying eyes. It’s located around a corner behind the counter, in a closed-off side aperture that can’t be seen through the window. The temperature within is delightfully cold, kept in by insulated doors and partly by Kuai Liang’s own design. He feels himself smile a bit as the chill hits his arms, sending gooseflesh rippling across the skin of his shoulders. Being here reminds him of the best parts of home.

Part of why Kuai Liang has managed to stay in business for so long might be attributed to his possession of an...unfair advantage, to say the least. Most store owners use generators — if they can afford it — or manually harvested ice to keep their stocks cool. Replenishing ice is a tedious task for many, but it’s not nearly as big a problem for him. 

He bends into a crouch facing the nearest adjacent wall, inspecting the insulation lining the walls and floor for damage. Above him are shelves and ledges filled with ingredients, fresh batches of ice cream ready to go in large, cylindrical containers. Off to one corner at the far end, he’s set aside the perishable goods that he restocks every few days; there’s extra stores of various fruit and several types of nuts, along with colored sugar crystals that seem to be especially popular with the younger ones. It looks as though he’ll have enough for the week. 

In the very back of the room, hidden behind piled-on crates and barrels is a larger, bluish-white block of ice, larger than the ones lining the room. Kuai Liang ducks behind the ledges and ice spires, their edges glancing across his skin. From a distance he can already see the object encased within beginning to partly peek through. As he skims a hand over the surface, clicking his tongue, his fingers come away wet; the temperature here will fully expose it if he is not careful enough. It’s good that he came in to check today. Kuai Liang takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, placing both hands to the ice. 

His energy is responding to the water molecules all around, little glowing spots in his peripherals. He pictures them in the blank space of his mind, shifting and coalescing. Coming together and solidifying, a moving mass. Something living; something more than him, bigger. 

Kuai Liang opens his eyes. Before him sits a perfect cube of ice, untouched and smooth. The form within is completely protected, shielded from the open air. He steps back to admire his handiwork. 

Right now, it’s just him in this little back room, the only corner of his world where he can be true to himself. Someday he hopes that he can go out into daylight again, powers in full view, and the children on the street corner will point in awe and giggle at the way the light refracts off the clouds. He could make them a rainbow, pleased at the way they no longer run away in terror or whisper amongst themselves in hushed intimidation. 

Kuai Liang has only ever wanted to be accepted for what he is. And yet, it is the last thing anyone would ever afford to him. 

There’s a sound outside, a plaintive knock, but the suddenness of it is enough to cause Kuai Liang to jump. He straightens, finishes touching up the ice bricks, and strides out of the room. Glancing up at the window, he tries to make himself look as nonchalant as possible. 

A pair of smug, leering eyes are peering at him through the glass. Atop the stranger’s head is a hat, pinched at the crown to create a narrowing plateau that dips in the center. The brim is wide enough to keep most of his face in shadow, though the leather mask covering the bottom half of his face also helps with this.

Plateau-hat has a distinctly threatening aura about him, one that sets Kuai Liang’s nerves on edge. He observes the man’s careless posture and glittering blue eyes and his gaze falls to the armband hanging loosely from his shoulder, at where the red lotus is emblazoned like a burn scar.

After the new republic was established by the Equalists and the old king was removed from the throne, its council members decided that elementalism was a threat to everyone’s safety. Why else, they reasoned, had the Fire Lord come to power so easily? Why had Avatar Aang failed to put him down, if he was supposed to be able to effortlessly control all four elements? Why had the only, final means of resistance against a tyrannical power been an organized coalition of a _non-bending majority_? 

Bending, at its core, was fundamentally _wrong_. It was something clearly suited to use for evil, for usurpation, for subjugation. It was a status symbol, something to flaunt around and hold over the people’s heads. No longer, said the newly birthed Red Lotus, whose pawns patrolled the streets at night and early dawn searching for such aberrations, the so-called anomalies among the ‘normal’ crowd. 

Kuai Liang had always been meticulous in the hiding of his abilities, or so he thought. Painstakingly avoiding the watchful public eye, pretending like nothing was amiss for most of his waking life — unless…

_Had they seen what he’d just done?_ He was so sure that no one had been watching. There was no way; the angle had made it impossible. 

Is that suspicion on the visitor’s face? Kuai Liang can’t tell. Some part of him chides himself for being so careless, the other chuckling at his worry. There’s no _way_ he could have seen, unless his vision could permeate through layers of brick and metal. 

_But what if he did?_

Steeling himself, Kuai Liang shuffles to the door. The doorjamb itself seems to tremble in his wake as he fumbles with the lock, but he manages to get it open. “Hello, how can I help you?” He says to the now—open doorway, slipping into the role of mildly inconvenienced, yet obliging bystander almost instantly. Plateau-hat narrows his eyes at him like there’s not a thing he can hide and Kuai Liang feels a hot rush of fear stab his heart.

But the man relaxes in the next breath. “Howdy,” he drawls, in a strange accent that Liang can’t quite place. If the weighty sway to his gait hadn’t been telling enough, the various weaponry attached to the man’s person lets Kuai Liang know just how much danger he’s in. He swallows as Plateau-hat continues. “Name’s Erron Black. Was wondering’ if you’d seen this man,” he unfurls a scroll and hands it to Kuai Liang, “lurking about recently.”

A bead of sweat trickles its way down Kuai Liang’s forehead as he inspects the page. Part of him wants to wick it away but he knows to ignore the urge. The man staring back up at him through the illustration is strange looking, dressed in hooded yellow armor and masked up to the bridge of his nose. His eyes are almond shaped and otherworldly — dark and piercing. There’s a chain wrapped around his wrist tapering into a pointed blade and he seems to be intent, fiercely so, on glaring into the viewer’s eyes.

“I’ve never seen him,” Kuai Liang says truthfully, taking in the character for “Scorpion” emblazoned on the top of the page, and he feels the relief crash over him like an ocean wave. So they’re not here for him after all. Though he can’t stop from inquiring, “Did something happen?”

Black frowns, but his voice doesn’t shift. Rather, he leans in a bit closer. It’s not _too_ close, but Kuai Liang instinctively takes a tiny step backward. “I shouldn’t be tellin’ you this,” he says, with all the oily glee of someone more than willing to divulge information, “but he’s an escapee who got out of our high security ward. Burned a ton o’ government buildings down, even killed a few higher ups.”

“That’s … terrible,” Kuai Liang says. 

“He’s been causin’ a real ruckus around the city,” Black gives him an appraising look, his cold eyes glinting. “So the man’s top priority. Make sure you give me a holler if he stops by, yeah? Or one of my boys, since I reckon you’ll be seein’ us around more from here on out.” 

Kuai Liang nods and the bounty hunter steps back, satisfied. 

“Thank you for your time,” he smirks, his hand coming to rest on his gun holster. Kuai Liang follows the movement with his eyes and feels intimidation grip his lungs. He swallows once more. Nods. 

There’s more he wants to ask. A thousand questions are buzzing within his mind like a swarm of gnats. “I —” Kuai Liang starts, but the man is already gone. People meandering by the shop shoot him curious looks as they pass, but the now empty space before him settles atop his frayed nerves like a balm. It takes him a while to go back inside.

Fortunately, the rest of the day is quiet. Not many people come in, but still Kuai Liang finds himself hovering on edge. His mind wanders to the thought of that bounty poster as he’s closing up shop that evening, of how a brisk flame might look reflected in the gleam of amber eyes. 

He has no love for the government. They only tolerate him for what they think he lacks, else they would fear him just like everyone else. More likely than not, they would have him executed on the spot. Perhaps the firebender in question has already met with this fate. 

Well. It would be a waste to dwell on it, Kuai Liang resigns as he finishes cleaning the tables and glassware for the night. There’s some solidarity between him and the elusive Scorpion in terms of their abilities, but he’s forced to remember that he knows nothing else about the man. Perhaps the bender has spilled blood: enjoyed it, even. Perhaps society’s hatred of what they can do are where their similarities end.

But there’s really no need to worry. Putting aside the fact that he could defend himself against a threat just fine, Kuai Liang’s shop is the last place on earth a vengeful fugitive might seek to burn down. He’s probably long gone from the city already, if he knew what was good for him. 

The platitudes still aren’t enough to ease his uncertainty but the trash bag lying neglected in the back corner of the shop is. Kuai Liang leans against the back wall and groans, letting his head drop against the wall with an audible _thunk._

It’s the most tedious task, the worst part of his duties, the only reason he’d even _think_ about entertaining the idea of another pair of hands around the storefront at all. Especially after today’s debacle, the looming darkness waiting right outside seems to grow deeper and more abyssal in his mind. 

_You’re being ridiculous,_ Kuai Liang chastises himself. _Your cold can put out even the brightest of flames._ He hauls the bag of refuse up over his shoulder before he can convince himself otherwise and toes the door open, letting it shut behind him as he steps out into the cool night air. In the pensive half-silence he hears the chattering of cave-crickets, common even in the city. The pitter patter of mole rat feet, a suggestion under the eaves of the adjoining buildings. The darkness is fluid, convalescing around him in a way, surprisingly, that isn’t more oppressive than it is soothing. Above him, past the faded towers of pinprick-lit buildings and silhouetted roofs, Kuai Liang takes some time to gaze. Lets himself breathe, think. He’s alone in the world, one with the stars and the water and the sky. The full moon beckons to him, almost calling out. 

He inhales deeply, then exhales, letting out a miniature puff of cold air. He can almost hear Bi-Han’s voice in his ear. _Jumping at shadows is very unbecoming of you, little brother._

Then one of said shadows moves, maybe a hand’s length of a shuffle one way at most. But it startles Kuai Liang so badly he very nearly falls over. 

Taking a deep breath and trying to push his heart back down his throat, he sets a pace toward the dumpster on shaky legs. Nothing moves this time around, and for a moment he thinks it was just a trick of the light (or lack thereof). As he eases closer, desperately he tries to calm himself with errant, lighthearted thoughts. When might he open the shop tomorrow? What shall he have for supper tonight, even? There are unopened bottles of sake in the back cabinet, a gift from an old friend, that might pair well with a meal. Frivolity is a comfort, after all. 

Before he knows it he is staring into the chasm of an industrial trash receptacle and nothing has happened. For a brief set of moments it continues this way, the world around ignorant to Kuai Liang’s lasting discontent. He notices the silence, almost like a bubble enclosing him, soaks in it until the moment two baleful, glowing yellow eyes open up and train themselves firmly on him. 

Kuai Liang freezes.

They stare at each other for so long that he’s afraid to break the unnaturally perfect stillness with even a breath. All Kuai Liang can really think about, over the dull roar of _danger danger danger_ and the unconcerned hum of crickets _,_ is that Black’s poster hadn’t really done the Scorpion much justice. 

He can’t trust himself to speak, so he merely watches as the hooded creature in the dumpster hauls himself up and out over its rim, looking as though he had every right to be there in the first place. Almost apologetic in the way he moves, as if he doesn’t want to frighten Kuai Liang any further. 

“I —“ he forces out. The stranger glances at him quickly, worry shifting in his eyes. The garbage bag — _when had Kuai Liang dropped it?_ — lies forgotten at their feet.

“I am sorry for startling you,” the man says, and his voice is deep. Sonorous, like warm coals under steam. “And for intruding on your property. But please, know that I don’t mean you any harm.”

“Odd place to take shelter in,” Kuai Liang muses, voicing the first coherent thought that comes to mind. 

The Scorpion fidgets, grinding his heel against the cobblestone path before him. Overhead, the colors of the night sky slide deeper into a navy blue, the stars watching the scene unfold with rapt attention. “It was not my intention to frighten or inconvenience you,” he repeats, sounding muffled behind the mask, “but I had no choice.” 

“Are you dangerous?” asks Kuai Liang, and the stranger scoffs lightly. 

“If I had any such intent, you would have been dead the minute you happened across me.”

The look on his face is carefully neutral, touched only slightly by the undercurrent of venom underneath. Intimidation would have probably worked on Kuai Liang, too, but he now knows that the specter before him is just a man. They are two caged animals leering at each other, chained by the world. Instinctually defensive, but alike.

“I know who you are,” Kuai Liang cuts in after a pause. 

The Scorpion straightens, his gaze drawing up to meet Kuai Liang’s. “I am not surprised,” he says, “though I wonder if I can trust you.” 

Kuai Liang gives a nod of acknowledgement. “Rest assured that I will not betray your location.” 

“How can I be sure of this?” asks the stranger, unconvinced. 

Saying nothing, Kuai Liang summons a luminous orb of water from the surrounding air. He quirks his eyebrows. “I share a similar ability.”

With a thought, the heat of the surrounding area is sucked away, and the orb solidifies. He can see the moonlight striking off both yellow eyes and white ice. Trying not to preen at the way the Scorpion’s eyes widen at his display, he dispels the liquid, melting it back down. The pair watch rivulets of it dribble over the tile and ridge, seeping into darkening cracks in the pavement. “What is your name?” 

“Hanzo,” Hanzo returns with a minute bow, face twisting as he does so. “Hasashi Hanzo.”

“A pleasure,” Kuai Liang smirks, the residual anxiety of the encounter almost entirely gone. “Shouldn’t you have left the city by now? The Red Lotus’ agents are actively searching for you.”

There’s something unreadable in Hanzo’s eyes. “I am kept here by duty alone,” he replies, pulling his mask down until it hangs just below the chin, “and I cannot leave until I have fulfilled it.” He breathes in shallowly, his chest heaving. He glances at Kuai Liang, swiftly, then away, his resolve seeming to strengthen. “I should be on my way.” 

“Wait,” Kuai Liang says, and as he peers at Hanzo with adjusted senses, he can make out just how thin that frame is, darkened by night and made heavy with intent. Something in him gives way, just a little, and he smiles. 

“At least stay for a cup of tea.” 

“At this hour?” Hanzo raises an eyebrow. 

Kuai Liang gives him an unimpressed once over, though there’s a sympathetic smirk on his face. “You seem like you need it. I insist.” He expects Hanzo to protest a bit more, but to his surprise, the man nods, yielding. He does not relax his tense posture as he’s being herded into the shop, nor does he show any obvious emotion, but Kuai Liang turns just in time to catch the small, relieved smile on Hanzo’s face, with it disappearing as quickly as it came.


	2. Human Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Chapter 2 is finally at a place where I can publish it :)) I have been juggling this and school and work, so updating has taken some time. I hope this story is to your liking! 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are much appreciated, and give me life. Depending on where my edits of the rough draft (which is finished) take me, I might extend the number of chapters, so let's see where this goes!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Kuai Liang doesn’t know what possessed him to open his home to a wanted fugitive, but here they are. The man known as Scorpion — or rather, _Hanzo —_ sits before Kuai Liang, hands folded and resting on the pristine white tabletop. He looks about as unassuming as any strange, yellow—eyed fugitive who crawled out of a dumpster would. 

He’d removed the mask, slipped off his hood as they were exchanging names and pleasantries — beneath the concealing garb is a man who might look almost gentle in the right light. He’s olive—skinned, narrow eyed, with dark hair and smooth, pouting lips. Despite himself, Kuai Liang chuckles quietly. The wanted poster _hadn’t_ done him any justice. 

Hanzo lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. He says nothing, and quiet blooms around them, as tense and still as fog. The lights are dimmed to avoid suspicion from any curious passerby, and the walls of the room seem to seep gloom in response. 

“The absurdity of this situation is not lost on me,” Kuai Liang murmurs, gripping his mug of tea. Hanzo’s left his own where it was for so long that it’d cooled considerably, forgotten.

The fog vanishes. Tilting his head very slightly, Hanzo leans in closer. Hazy yellow eyes gaze back at him with startling clarity, and Kuai Liang chooses to ignore the way his stomach flutters at the movement. “How so?”

“Someone came to my doorstep in search of you this morning,” he says. “He told me you were dangerous, and wanted for murder and arson.” _And here you are, sitting before me._

Hanzo shifts. Though his face betrays nothing, he nods. “They deserved the wrath I bore upon them.” He unfolds his hands and then folds them again, as though unsure of what exactly to do. “But I fight for the honor of my clan, nothing more.”

“How long have you been on the run?” Kuai Liang asks. 

“It has been a few days,” is the answer. Hanzo‘s face morphs into one of tiredness, as though this route of conversation is over. He settles for sweeping his gaze over the shop interior with mild interest, and a tiny smile upturns the corners of his mouth. “You run a nice place. Have you always lived here?”

“I hail originally from up north,” Kuai Liang replies, following his lead, “but the cold lost its bite after a while, and I needed a change of scenery.”

“This city is certainly...grand,” Hanzo replies, eyes almost glowing, but his face twists as he says it. It elicits a surprised laugh from Kuai Liang, unused to the sudden display of emotion.

“Where are you from?” he asks the firebender, hiding his mirth behind another sip of jasmine tea. 

“Shu Jing.” 

That far away? “What brings you _here_ , of all places?” 

“I —” Hanzo shakes his head. “I came here for a similar reason as you. At first. Now…” he trails off, looking haunted. “I suppose I will have to find my comeuppance elsewhere.”

 _What do you mean by that?_ Kuai Liang wants to probe further, but the look on Hanzo’s face advises him against it. “Do you have anywhere specific in mind?” 

“No.” His expression slips back into guardedness. Perhaps Hanzo is not as trusting as Kuai Liang had originally thought; he certainly has the right to be. “I will go wherever my feet take me.” 

Kuai Liang hums, and the conversation dissipates. Hanzo’s gaze trails over to the mug of tea as if he’d forgotten it was there. He drags a hand over to it and picks it up, staring into its rim. The cryomancer watches him, intent, though he’d be embarrassed to admit it. A thought crosses his mind. “Why did you choose to hide in my dumpster, of all places?” 

Hanzo’s eyes flash in amusement. “It seemed like a good place to lay low at the time.” 

“The last place the Red Lotus would look is among the filth and squalor of the middle class, I see.” Kuai Liang deadpans.

“You should know better than I that they do not care much for commoners,” Hanzo smirks. “And besides, it was only supposed to be for the night, but you found me before I was able to slip away.” 

“But _my_ dumpster?” Kuai Liang presses, interest clear in his expression. “How did you end up in this part of the city?” A wry smile flashes across his face. “Surely you have some harrowing tale of danger and excitement that made it absolutely necessary to encroach on my property.”

He doesn’t expect Hanzo to look so put out, and debates telling him that he means it in jest, but Hanzo begins to speak before he can. “I suppose I owe you that much.”

The two set aside their mugs almost in unison, one in anticipation and the other in some sort of resigned agreement. Propping up his head on one arm, Kuai Liang waits for him to speak, enticed by the most excitement he’s had in a while. 

He learns of the places Hanzo sets aflame without a flicker of hesitance. How they all belong to people that wronged him, in a distant past — though how exactly he was wronged, Hanzo is reluctant to say. Some places, he explains, are where his objects of vengeance live. Others are where they work. He wants to burn it all down. That day, it had been a bank owned by one of the most powerful men in the city. 

“I was captured during a moment of weakness,” Hanzo says, shrugging at his questioning look. “I failed to notice that I had not cleared the perimeter of that office before...incinerating it.”

“What do you mean?” 

“It was open that day,” he explains, “he made sure to never be alone, or in public where I might find him. He knew I was after him, so he,” his face contorts, though Kuai Liang can’t be sure if it’s grief, rage, disgust, or some combination of the three, “used the people around him as a shield.” 

“It’s clever,” the cryomancer muses, tearing his gaze away to look thoughtfully at the ceiling, “Craven, but clever.”

Hanzo had eventually managed to dispatch the owner of the bank. He’d found him cowering among the safes and vaults and had ended his misery with a single firebolt, he says. But that hadn’t been the end of it. 

“As I was making my escape I saw a child call out, lost in the chaos. No more than ten years old, barely up to my waist,” he drops his hand below the table in an approximation of her height, “and I could hear her mother outside, screaming for her as the flames roared behind me.” 

“So you went back in to fetch her?” Kuai Liang asks, impressed. 

Hanzo nods solemnly. “I knew it would be a risk, but I would rather die than harm an innocent.” 

“This paints a different picture of you than what was originally told to me,” remarks the cryomancer, reaching for his mug. Outside, the street lights flicker briefly. “When I saw you first I thought you were after my blood.”

“I am only after the blood of those that wronged me,” Hanzo says, his tone grave. 

“So the buildings are collateral, then?”

“My vengeance will burn everything that dares lay in its path.”

Kuai Liang snorts at his impassioned words, ignoring the confused look Hanzo sends his way. He can respect the man’s fervor. Perhaps he would do the same, were he in a similar situation. Hanzo’s eyes are almost burning a hole into the table with the way he’s staring down at it. “This is when you were first captured.” Kuai Liang says. “But how did you escape?”

Hanzo glances at him. “They had imprisoned me in a room with blank walls, somewhere far underground. I waited in solitude, for however many days and nights I do not know, until they became accustomed to my compliance. Then I agreed to confess to my crimes.”

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” 

“They would have killed me regardless; had I confessed earlier, I would have been pardoned and summarily executed.” says Hanzo, wincing slightly, “and my business in this world was unfinished.”

“And what after?”

“While they were leading me to the top floor, they had me bound and muzzled. They assumed I was compliant, but I was able to burn up the ropes around my wrists and subdue the guards. When I finished, I masqueraded as one of them and left the island on one of the prison boats.”

“You were able to do all of that undetected?” Kuai Liang asks.  
  
Hanzo’s lips curve upward just a fraction. “I have my ways.” 

Long periods of intermittent quiet seem to be a mainstay of their conversation, but it doesn’t feel awkward or tense, Kuai Liang reflects as he breathes in the spicy-sweet aroma of steeped herbs. The pair drink in silence, until Hanzo suddenly places his mug aside, clenches his hand into a fist, and drops it against the surface of the table, trembling. Kuai Liang flinches despite himself.

“Hanzo?” he asks, but the Scorpion isn’t listening. His fist remains there, almost-white knuckles contrasting against the wood. His teeth are gritted. In the hushed lighting his eyes are almost gold. 

The fugitive shakes his head but says nothing; it appears as though he is unable. Shallow breaths punctuate his shaking frame, and realization sparks in Kuai Liang’s core. “You’re injured.”

Hanzo grimaces, clutching at his side with one hand. Subconsciously, Kuai Liang presses closer. He's warm — almost too warm, and so _thin_. He shakes his head. Licks his lips, the other’s eyes darting to follow the motion. “I-it’s nothing serious. I have been dealing with it for some time now.”

“What happened?” Kuai Liang hopes the worry on his face isn’t too apparent. 

“My arrogance led to this,” Hanzo bites out, “I became too comfortable with …. with stealing from the merchants.”  
  
“In the marketplace?” Kuai Liang asks, and he nods, eyes averted. Guilt plain on his features. He attempts to stand, gripping the corner of the table for support, but the energy leaves him and he collapses back into the chair.

“I had no money. There was no way for me to make any, and I needed to eat.” As if he needs to justify this to Kuai Liang. “They’d been waiting for me. Realized who I was; they set a trap. I was cornered —” he flinches, then barks out a laugh, the sound more of a wheeze. “I suppose it was my fault for returning to the same place repeatedly.”

“Let me see it,” Kuai Liang says. “perhaps I can help you.”

Hanzo shakes his head; the look on his face is closed off. Kuai Liang knows by now that it’s just a farce. “A mere flesh wound. It should heal on its own time.” 

“Your expression tells me otherwise,” he replies dryly.

Hanzo waves him away. Picking up the forgotten mug of tea, he throws it back and finishes it in one gulp. A curl of smoke escapes the lip as he sets it down, empty. “You have already aided me enough. I can manage, do not worry about me.”

“I insist,” repeats Kuai Liang, more firmly. “I live just upstairs, so please. Let me help you.”

Biting his lip, Hanzo looks as though he wants to disagree. He shoots an appraising glance at the door. But then his expression softens, smoothed over more by the pain coursing through his body then by gratitude. Pity guides Kuai Liang’s arm over Hanzo’s shoulders and he half—drags, half carries the other man up the stairs to his apartment. It's a small place; some would call it cramped, but it's home to Kuai Liang, who’s never exactly had anyone to share it with. Until now. 

He nudges them both into the small front hallway, leaning against the door behind him and closing it shut with his back. The main room is sparsely furnished; there's a set of chairs circling a small radio and a bed in the far corner, flanked by a dusty looking nightstand. In another aperture off to the side is the kitchen space, though Kuai Liang settles for taking Hanzo straight to the bed, settling him down.

“Your shirt, if you will,” says Kuai Liang. After some deliberation, Hanzo acquiesces, allowing him to strip it off and revealing a toned, chiseled frame. A long, angry welt runs diagonal across his chest and curves off to his side. It looks flayed, painful—red in the dim light.

Hanzo fidgets under his gaze, face twisting with discomfort. “I had to cauterize it to stop the bleeding,” he says, “though I think they …” gritting his teeth, “poisoned the blade, or—“

“Conserve your strength, Hanzo,” Kuai Liang cuts in worriedly. The wound looks infected. It’s almost purpling at the edges, and the surrounding veins have darkened to almost black under the skin. There’s a thin, clear sheen of fluid trickling out. 

“At least you aren’t bleeding,” he muses, though it’s only a small mercy.

Hanzo frowns, schooling his features despite the obvious strain this takes on him. “It should resolve itself. I have been injured much worse.” He makes to stand up, but falters. Kuai Liang’s firm hand on his shoulder keeps him down. 

“You won’t make it another week without medical attention,” he insists.

Throwing him a withering, yet pained look, Hanzo ceases his protests. “I did not know you were a doctor.”

“I was never formally trained in the art of healing, but I learned a few tricks along the way.” Kuai Liang deliberately misses his gaze as he stoops over to unlock the bottom drawer of his nightstand, feeling for the sides. At the switch he finds and flips, the paneling slides away to reveal a pointed, triangular vial. He pulls it out, holding it up to the light to appraise its glowing, silvery sheen. Hanzo’s eyes widen. 

Kuai Liang catches him staring, and offers him a rueful grimace. “We’re lucky I never found another occasion to use this.”

“That’s—“

“Spirit water, from the northern oasis,” he finishes for him. “My mother was able to procure a vial for me before I left the tribe.”

“Kuai Liang,” says Hanzo, and he sounds pleading. His eyes are watching the vial with unguarded caution, almost glowing themselves in the otherworldly light. “This is … to squander something so precious — so valuable… I cannot ask this of you.”

The cryomancer merely smiles. “I am giving it to you freely.”

He’s not sure why his mother risked life and limb to steal something so precious from a locked, forsaken ruin. Perhaps she’d done so in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to convince him — or maybe she was convincing herself — that he was still a normal member of their tribe. That he’d been leaving of his own accord, that he was outcasted of his own accord, that he’d had a chance at all to be _normal_ , despite being born this way —

She said it would help him look less roguish. Less like someone who’d had to answer for a crime the hard way, what with the jagged scar running across his left eye. Less like a man who had dared use his curse against his own brother and had to suffer his wrath for it. 

_Find a good time,_ she’d said, thrusting the vial into his hands with trembling fingers, _A good place that will accept you._ Not the real you, no one would. _And use it when you are most in need of it. Build a family, Kuai Liang, one that does not remember the stain of your past._

With an amused snort, Kuai Liang wonders how aghast she might have been to find out that he was not using it on himself to look more appealing to the opposite sex, but on a decidedly male fugitive, someone with a burning gaze and a built frame, so far removed from the soft, blue-eyed maidens back home… 

Better to shut the thought down before it can really take root.

He uncorks the vial before Hanzo can make a further sound of protest. “Lie back,” Kuai Liang commands, and with some resistance Hanzo lowers himself onto the mattress, clutching his torso.

A stream of silver flows out of the vial under his ministrations and flows around his hands in greeting, almost like an old friend. Hanzo is watching with rapt attention. Kuai Liang smirks, his hands alight with a soft, fluid glow. Hanzo hisses as they make contact with the wound, seemingly more out of habit than anything, but he relaxes just as quick. The cool feeling makes him melt into the mattress with a sigh.

Kuai Liang’s eyes are closed and he’s murmuring something under his breath as his hands move within the fluid, just barely hovering above his skin. All that’s connecting them is the soothing flow of water and subtle, warm heat.

He cracks one eyelid open to find Hanzo watching the scene, transfixed, eyes half-lidded as the gash begins to heal, knitting back together almost instantly. It won’t heal the poison, not immediately, but it will energize him. Help him fight against it. 

The spirit water, which by now has lost its ethereal blue glow, refills the empty vial in a thin stream. Hanzo’s skin is clear, free of any marks that hadn’t already healed over. Kuai Liang leans back on his haunches and offers him a kindly glance as he returns the vial to its place in the drawer. “Feeling better?” he asks.

“Yes, thank you,” Hanzo croaks, then sits up rather quickly. He winces. “I could not begin to repay you for your kindness. I —“

Kuai Liang holds up a hand. Amusement glimmers in his dark eyes, which quickly congeals to seriousness. “What now?” He asks.

“I think…” Hanzo muses. “Perhaps it would be best for me to leave you.”

“At this hour?” Kuai Liang finds himself asking, an echo of Hanzo’s earlier sentiments. 

“The cover of night will hide me from my pursuers,” the Scorpion replies—of course it would. His legs are steadier as he rises from the bed, but the color still hasn’t quite returned to his face. “Thank you for healing me.”

“It’s what anyone would have done.”

“Not just anyone.” Hanzo’s eyes are soft then, doe’s eyes on tigerskin. “I will not forget you, Kuai Liang.” Sparing one lingering look at Kuai Liang, as though he’d like to say more, he turns, slips towards the door.

Kuai Liang is still sitting there, kneeling in the same position. “Wait!” he calls, and Hanzo stops, the question in the air. “I can’t let you leave.” At Hanzo’s raised, mildly accusatory stare, he amends, “I mean, perhaps you should stay here for some time, so you may recuperate.”

“That’s dangerous,” Hanzo says instantly. 

“I’ve had to hide worse,” replies Kuai Liang. He stands up to meet Hanzo by the front. The Scorpion is about the same height as him, not nearly as intimidating as he’d been depicted in the scroll. “Besides, the spirit water requires time to fully heal you. It’s only whittled away the surface damage.”

“I do not want to endanger your safety, Kuai Liang,” Hanzo says with a meaningful look. Taking a step backward, his posture stiffens as a hand is laid on his shoulder again. Fatigue seeps into the cracks of his face, the lines of premature age and stress. Even now, he looks haggard and weary, as resolute as he seems. 

What if he were to get caught in this weakened state? Hanzo is no saint, but he does not deserve death for his actions, not if his words are anything to go by. Fleetingly, Kuai Liang wonders if he can ask about what happened to him one day. His answer might justify his rage; it’s easy to believe his words, as intimidating as he looks. In any case, Kuai Liang doesn’t want to send an innocent man to an early grave.

 _But is that all it is?_ Another part of him probes, and he has to admit that he is not acting on benevolence alone. Hanzo is...interesting. There is something dark and angry within him, something Kuai Liang can’t place, but he feels kindred to it all the same. They’re tied together with similar threads, though Kuai Liang’s froze where Hanzo’s burned.

He wants to know more. To be saved from a dreary existence, to feel kinship with someone who is just as hated by the world as he is. It also doesn’t hurt that this someone is …especially nice to look at. 

“Stay here,” Kuai Liang repeats earnestly, content to ignore his pesky inner monologue, “until you are well enough to leave.”

“You don’t know me,” Hanzo backtracks in an attempt to throw him off this line of conversation. “What if I’m just as the papers say?”

“You aren’t.”

With a sudden movement Hanzo takes him by surprise. Has him tightly by the shoulders, a fierce look in his eyes. Kuai Liang jumps, but meets his gaze. 

“What if I hurt you?” The voice is low but steady, a throaty growl. It stirs something up in Kuai Liang, something that’s not fear. Hanzo shakes him, just a little, as if this will prove his malice. “What if I was waiting for you to lower your guard so that I could kill you and rob you of your possessions?”

“You won’t.”

“I can,” says Hanzo, expression carefully guarded.

Kuai Liang frowns and gives him a curious look. “You can. But you won’t.”

Neither of them say a thing. After a long pause, and with a new tiredness Kuai Liang’s never seen in a person before, Hanzo sighs. Pulls his hands away. “I suppose I could use the time to lie low,” he says. “But I’ll have to leave the city, sooner rather than later. I don’t — I don’t belong here.” 

Kuai Liang nods, though a small part of him wilts at the hidden finality of Hanzo’s words. It feels as though a dam has broken between them. “Of course,” he says. “Shall I show you around?”

They both know he’s already seen all of it. The apartment — and the shop — are both exceedingly small. Hanzo smirks at the unneeded formality, but dips his head in assent. “Lead the way.”


	3. Bitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! It's been awhile. I knew I said I was gonna update monthly but stuff came up. Started school again, the works. But here's the newest chapter! As always, thanks so much for reading, and be sure to leave a comment or kudos if you liked it :)

The next morning, Kuai Liang gets through half his routine before he remembers that he’s not alone. As he exits the washroom he senses movement in the corner of his room but relaxes when he remembers it’s Hanzo, who grumbles a subdued ‘good morning’ before rolling over in his sleep.

Smiling fondly, Kuai Liang leaves him to it and heads downstairs.

As he opens up the windows, letting the fresh sun bathe him in a swathe of light, a flicker of motion flashes past his peripherals and he looks down to see a familiar shape rubbing against the lower panes of glass. It meets his eyes almost knowingly and lets out a plaintive meow.

Kahn, as he’s taken to calling the animal, is just as much a regular as any human being that comes into his shop. The blue and green cat can often be found lounging in the shade created by its eaves, friendly to those that come by and appreciative of the odd scratch behind his ear.

“Hello, friend,” he says pleasantly as he passes him by to fetch the saucer of milk. “Have you had a good week?”

The cat meows again, flicking his tail at him. After nudging the door open and setting the saucer on the floor, Kuai Liang winks and gives his velvety head a vigorous pat. Several passersby pause as they walk by to admire the oddly colored feline cozying up to him, a welcome sight. But suddenly, Kahn’s ears perk up and he freezes in place, pale blue eyes trained on an invisible spot inside the shop.

“What’s wrong?” Kuai Liang asks, but before he’s had a chance to move, Kahn lets out a screech and bolts in through the slightly open door, off like a crossbow shot. He’d had no time to react, and when he finally whirls around an eternity later the cat is nowhere to be seen.

The loud crash and accompanying shout are enough to send him barreling up the stairs to where he’d left Hanzo. What a strange start to the morning.

“Stay away from me, you foul thing —” an extremely bedraggled Hanzo is saying to the extremely upset and puffed up Kahn, who has parked himself directly on the bedsheets. The cat hisses, his fangs completely exposed. “Kuai Liang! What is this?”

“I see you’ve met Kahn,” says Kuai Liang, smirking despite himself. The animal’s ears perk up at the mention of his name, but he maintains his position, back arched and claws out. “Did you have a poor first introduction?”

“It just ran in and started attacking me, I have no idea what I did,” Hanzo says helplessly. He tries to put up his hands in surrender but Kahn just bristles even more at the unwelcome movement.

Kuai Liang takes that as his cue to intervene. Crossing the room in two strides, he scoops up the angry ball of fluff in his arms, satisfied as Kahn lets him do so with little resistance. He hisses at Hanzo again from his new perch, eliciting a laugh from said perch.

“He’s never done this before. I apologize,” Kuai Liang says, the mirth still in his tone. “In fact, this might be the first time he’s actually entered the shop.”

“Its coloring is odd,” Hanzo says, still suspicious but beginning to settle back. Appraising Kahn's navy blue color, the electric green stripes running down his back. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“Perhaps he belongs to someone,” shrugs Kuai Liang; save for the green, which may very well be artificial, the overarching blue of Kahn’s coat isn’t an uncommon shade. The cat’s yellow eyes gaze up at Kuai Liang and he begins to purr in his arms. He grins at him. “You are going to have to come back some other day, friend.” He laughs as a little furry head butts against his chin.

Hanzo is staring at him strangely, a small, bemused smile on his face. Kuai Liang gives him an apologetic wiggle of his fingers as he shifts the animal’s weight to his other arm. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he says. As he turns to leave, Kahn gives Hanzo a final warning hiss before turning his head, and Kuai Liang tries to ignore how rich the responding, surprised laugh is.

Once outside, he drops the cat onto the road and it lands on nimble paws, mewing at him once before going to the forgotten saucer of milk. His ears flick happily as he laps it up.

“You were certainly acting strange in there,” he says, unsure if Kahn even understands what he says. Bantering with Kahn is a normal part of his routine; he would even consider the animal as a friend, now. Not that he had many human ones to begin with.

To his surprise, Kahn pauses and looks up at him. There’s something eerie in that yellow gaze, something knowing. Unsure of what to do, Kuai Liang stares back until the cat dips its head, once, and bounds into the busy street, turning a corner and disappearing.

~~

A few days pass. Kahn doesn’t return, but this is normal for him, so Kuai Liang pays it no mind. Preoccupied with running the shop, he even almost forgets that he’s harboring a criminal until he retires to his quarters for the night. It’s easy to forget; aside from the fleeting, solitary glimpse of a scarlet armband on the opposite side of the street, the Red Lotus has kept out of sight for the most part, but never out of mind.

Without lowering his guard, Kuai Liang keeps his head down and does his work, the fear of being discovered settling into a low background hum. He finds that the thought of Hanzo upstairs in his room carries him through work much swifter than he’ll ever care to admit.

Directing all of his energy towards recovery, Hanzo spends most of his time sleeping or ambling about the room during the day, glancing out the window at periodic intervals and eating whatever Kuai Liang brings up for him during breaks. There’s not much more he can do, and as the fire within him burns more fierce as time passes, toward the end of the week he looks brighter, more alert, quicker in his reflexes as his injury heals. While this makes relief blossom within Kuai Liang’s chest, it also signals that the end of his time with Hanzo is coming.

Kuai Liang learns that the firebender is surprisingly capable of conversation, despite his earlier aloofness. He seems to have warmed up to Kuai Liang, and their lively discussions stretch until late into the night.

During these times, Kuai Liang finds himself laughing harder than he ever has in his life, and through tears he sometimes catches Hanzo looking at him, the same strange expression in those yellow eyes. Once he tried to ask about it, but the firebender had simply cleared his throat, shook his head, and looked away. Kuai Liang doesn’t know what to make of it, unaccustomed to the simple presence of another person in his life, so he doesn’t bring it up again for fear that he might have crossed a line somewhere.

Their chatter remains lighthearted, and reveals nothing too personal about either of them. Perhaps this is the best way to lose oneself in conversation, Kuai Liang muses. Hanzo is by nature a private person, and his presence will no longer be a constant in a matter of days, so it’s best for Kuai Liang to not learn too much, to not get too attached.

He's already too attached. 

It’s the end of the week when the walls collapse, after a tougher-than-usual shift that leaves Kuai Liang tired and worn bare. Today, customers had swarmed in like moths to flame, entranced by the shade and the cool, sweet temptation of ice cream from the oppressive evening heat. He hadn’t even had the opportunity to take a break, so by the time he closes up shop, hunger and weariness alike have seeped into his bones. He wants nothing more now than to collapse into his cot and sleep the fatigue away.

Through the haze, however, something occurs to him on the way upstairs, something strange. and so Kuai Liang finds himself in the back pantry, rooting through the shelves for the two large bottles of rice wine he’s been saving for special occasions. It’s been a long, torturous day, and he has company for the first time in...well, ever. This is about as special as it gets.

Tucking the bottles under the crook of one arm, Kuai Liang swipes two cups from the counter on the way, intending to take them upstairs, but a sudden flash of yellow in the dim light makes him startle and nearly drop a glass.

“You probably shouldn’t be down here,” he says, without any malice in his tone. Hanzo sighs, but his, too, is good natured.

“There’s not much to do up in your quarters,” he remarks. Kuai Liang gives him a sympathetic look and frees his arms. “I just wanted to stretch my legs for a bit.”

“You seem to be doing better,” he remarks.

“Very much so.” Hanzo eyes the two full bottles he’s set on the table. “What’s the occasion?”

“I was wondering if you’d care to join me for a drink,” replies Kuai Liang as he sets down the last of the dishes. No one seems to be outside. The street is quiet and the lights in the shop are dimmed, the curtains drawn, so it wouldn’t hurt for them to stay downstairs this evening. Still, he adds, “if you would like to stay here or go upstairs, whatever you prefer.”

Hanzo nods his assent. “Let us stay down here for the time being. Change in atmosphere and all that.”

Kuai Liang can’t argue there. He pushes an empty glass forward just as Hanzo sits himself down. He inspects the bottle of rice wine, humming in appreciation. “This is good quality.”

“It was a gift from an old friend.” Kuai Liang cuts around to sit at the opposite side of the table. Leaning forward, he grabs the bottle by its neck and uncorks it, filling each cup with a gossamer stream of the translucent, pale liquid.

Hanzo’s eyebrows furrow, his mouth set in a bemused line. “Are you in the habit of wasting precious resources on strangers you hardly know?”

At that, Kuai Liang merely chuckles as he lifts the cup. “Good alcohol is meant to be shared, after all.” The smallest of smiles appears on Hanzo’s face and he raises his glass as well. “And besides, I’d hardly call us strangers now, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Hanzo laughs in response as he brings the rim to his lips. Transfixed, Kuai Liang watches the muscles in his throat work as he swallows the alcohol down, the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his neck. Luckily, he’s careful enough to avert his gaze before Hanzo notices.

Kuai Liang tosses back his own glass and sets it down on the table with an unsavory clunk. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and notices then that Hanzo is looking at him too. He balks. “What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s — it’s nothing.” He pours them another round, and another, the bottle noticeably lighter than before. “Tell me about yourself, Kuai Liang.”

It’s one of the rare times Hanzo has used his name, and it sends a pleasant wave coursing through his stomach. The question takes him by mild surprise. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything you are willing to share.” Yellow eyes glance over him, up and down in a cursory once over. He feels open, scrutinized, but also safe under Hanzo’s gaze. The alcohol loosens his tongue, warms his chest, and eliminates his reservations.

“Okay...well, where shall I begin?” Kuai Liang mulls it over, and the small, anxious voice in his head takes its chance to pipe up. Should he tell this — this stranger, someone he has invited into his home without a second thought, someone who could be endangering them both, his life story? Is that not supremely inappropriate? His mind tells him so, yet the sake diffusing through his veins speaks otherwise.

Hanzo waits expectantly for him to begin, nodding along as Kuai Liang takes another shot. “I was born in the North Pole. My parents were nonbenders, and they had my...brother, and I, within four years of each other.”

“What of your brother?” Hanzo asks, but withdraws quickly when he sees the stricken look Kuai Liang must have on at the mention of him. He backtracks. “Rather, what made you leave the North Pole?”

“I felt as though there were nothing left there for me,” admits Kuai Liang, relieved at the change in topic. “My … my mother had just passed.” He nods, face drawn, at Hanzo’s sympathetic look. “Our lineage had many waterbending masters in the bygone age, so many of my people had already been...captured, and killed.”

“I am glad you managed to escape.”

“Yes, well…” his heart clenches at the recollection. “Not without a lack of conflict. My mother knew that I was one such waterbender — I suspect the only remaining one at that time — so she sought to protect me from our elders, to save me from my predecessors’ fate. After her death, I…I had only one other person that I thought I could trust. And it led to my downfall.”

The girl had called herself Frost. They had grown up trudging through snowbanks and catching fish in the frigid waters off the snowy plain they called home. Their parents had known each other well; the two had practically been raised in the same tent.

It was Frost who had seen him through much of his life. She was the closest thing to a friend he’d had. It had been Frost who found him in bed with an older boy at the age of 16 and promised to keep it secret from the others, Frost who mediated his constant, violent arguments with Bi-Han, perennial like the blizzards, Frost who had fought alongside him until the day she turned her back on him, just like everyone else had.

Though Kuai Liang had elected to ignore it for as long as he could, the burning envy within his childhood friend had always been there, violent and uncontrollable, and the minute he revealed his secrets to her, she’d tried to covet them for her own, demanding that he show her how he’d acquired them. When her talents inevitably refused to make themselves known, she’d ruined Kuai Liang for having the audacity to wield what she never could.

“The elders had me thrown into the sea that night, binding my arms and legs,” Kuai Liang finishes, ignoring Hanzo’s horrified expression. He’s too drunk to care about how much he shares anymore, his brain a fluid, dribbling muddle. “What they didn’t account for was that I could bend well enough to get myself to safety.”

Hanzo’s listening with rapt attention, mouth slightly parted. Some part of Kuai Liang twinges giddily at his expression, but he forces it down. “So how did you escape?” The firebender asks.

“I was able to bend the moisture out of the air and form a sharp enough blade of ice to cut my bonds with before they threw me in. I struggled underwater until I was able to resurface, then I swam to an iceberg unseen and lay there until my strength was regained.”

Genuine admiration — as well as shock, and awe — frames Hanzo’s face and brings him to life once more in the dim lights. “Such an impressive feat requires great skill and fortitude.”

Trying not to preen under his gaze, Kuai Liang smiles gently. “I spent a lot of time in the moonlight, learning from the tides and the water. My mother told me many stories of the moon spirit, and I always dismissed it as myth. But those nights it felt as though I wasn’t so alone in the world, somehow. Sometimes I liked to think she was my teacher.”

“She taught you well,” Hanzo remarks. A slow quiet, cool and even, descends over them. Kuai Liang picks up the bottle for yet another refill — he’d lost count of how many times he’s had to do so — and finds it almost empty. Reining in a sigh, he settles for drinking out the last of the sake from the mouth of the bottle itself.

Hanzo helps him with the next bottle, uncorking it in a quick gesture. A pleased flush deepens his cheeks. “I suppose it is only fair for me to tell you something about myself in return.”

“Go on.”

“I grew up in Shu Jing, a small hamlet at the very heart of the fire nation. It was unassuming, but home to a clan.”

“The Shirai Ryu,” Kuai Liang pipes up, remembering from the time they first met.

Hanzo nods severely. “Before we were found out, the Shirai Ryu were mostly known as vassals and warriors serving under the Fire Lord himself. But what nobody knew —our best kept secret — was that many of us were firebenders.” As though reliving a painful memory, Hanzo goes quiet, face contorted.

“You included, I presume,” says Kuai Liang dryly, but not unsympathetically, as he watches Hanzo take several more sips.

“It was one of the last places on earth to speak of where we could live as ourselves,” Hanzo continues, his tone that of hardened magma. “After the purge, many believed that the firebenders had been dispatched, so we were left alone. Though it was still difficult to live in hiding, we at least had a chance.” His voice tightens around the word ‘had’.

“Hanzo…”

“I had a family,” Hanzo says, without looking at him. His grip tightens on the glass, so tense his knuckles pale. “A wife, and a son. Their names were …” he shakes his head, seeming to decide upon something. He turns that gaze on Kuai Liang, uncertain and lost and so very open. “Harumi and Satoshi. They were normal. They didn’t — I married her, thinking I could protect her. Protect him. That my clan could ensure their safety. And then —”

Kuai Liang places a hand on his forearm, brows knitted with concern. “You don’t have to continue, Hanzo,” he murmurs. _I understand._

Hanzo gives him a long look. His eyes are dark with misery. “The Red Lotus attacked on the day I was sent to trade with a neighboring kingdom, all those years ago. Must have found us out, somehow. They slaughtered _everyone_. My caravan were the only ones left alive, but they, too, were captured, one by one as we ran. I am the only one left.” A haunted note enters his expression. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Perhaps because we are one and the same, you and I,” Kuai Liang reassures him gently, his heart breaking for the man in front of him. “We are both alone in a world which seeks to eliminate us. I, for one, am honored that you would share your story with me.”

There’s no way he would have the nerve to pull a stunt like this were he not drunk, but Kuai Liang watches, energized by the drink flowing through his veins, as his hand slides across the smooth muscle of Hanzo’s forearm to his wrist and down to his hand. He watches them twitch, then yield, as Kuai Liang intertwines their fingers. Part of him is screaming, inwardly, at how wildly inappropriate this is, but the other man doesn’t seem bothered by the intrusion.

“I cannot think of anyone better to share it with,” Hanzo replies, after a brief, thunderous pause, taking him by surprise. That strange look is back in his eye again, something deep and penetrating pinning Kuai Liang in place. He shifts under the intensity of it, then takes another swig from his cup.

He’s barely put the glass down, his own gaze averted, before he hears the legs of a chair scraping the floor and then feels the sudden, electrifying touch of warm lips against his own. He startles backwards, and the loud noise of his own hurried movements brings them both back to the present.

He glances at Hanzo, eyes wide. “What was that?” He manages to stutter out.

Hanzo straightens, nervousness twisting his every feature, and lets go of his hand, seeming not to notice the way Kuai Liang reaches out for him as if on reflex. His motions are stilted. “I—I’m sorry,” he says, desperately. “I am not in my right mind. It appears I’ve misunderstood the situation. Please, forgive—”

Kuai Liang finally finds his balance. He steps closer, watching the words die in Hanzo’s throat. With a newfound burst of courage he grabs Hanzo’s hand in his own, again, marvelling at the pleasant heat of the fingers re-laced within his. Hanzo lets him, still looking as if he’s about to bolt any minute.

“I was just surprised,” Kuai Liang murmurs. “I wasn’t expecting…”

Anything, really. Hanzo is like a hearth; huddle around it and warm yourself, but do not expect anything more or it may burn you. Kuai Liang has spent so long living in fear. Accordingly, he has lowered his expectations to nil, and so he is more surprised by this turn of events than anything else.

Hanzo is sending him a questioning look, bidding him to finish his sentence. _I wasn’t expecting my feelings to be returned,_ he doesn’t say, and lets the thought settle into dust.

Hanzo nods, shakily, when he realizes he won’t get an answer. He doesn’t seem too bothered by it, though. His gaze shifts to the floor and remains fixed there, darting to where their hands are joined. “I am sorry for startling you,” he says.

Kuai Liang raises his own gaze to meet Hanzo’s; he finds the yellow eyes staring back at him with a burning, fierce intensity. He opens his mouth but finds he can’t say anything in return, so he just gapes, in awe of what he sees before him.

He is at a wayside, a crossroads. He has a choice. Hanzo is giving him that choice. Kuai Liang can draw away, pull back into the safety and reclusion he’s always known, and Hanzo will let him. _Hanzo feels the same way about him._

He should turn away. Shouldn't encourage this...thing that's blossomed between them, this new and beautiful thing, a light in the darkness of their intersected lives. 

_But,_ the other part of him points out, cutting through his tension like a knife, _you’ve already fallen this far. Make your choice now._

No sooner than that does Kuai Liang know he’s already made up his mind. Knows he chose long ago, long before this moment, long before everything that came in between. With that single thought burning in his mind, he leans in, and feels an explosion of thrill when their lips meet once more.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, leave a kudos and/or a comment, please :) they make me very happy. I'm planning to make this a series if it gains any traction, so show me love if you're interested <3\. See you soon!


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